


Long Yesterdays

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Drinking, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Labyrinth References, M/M, Nostalgia, POV Alternating, References to David Bowie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://s358.photobucket.com/user/worksbysenorajane/media/Mobile%20Uploads/2016-01-28%2019.57.19_zpsv8mfvoht.jpg.html"></a>
  <img/><br/>
Leave it to a little alcohol and a good movie to bring out what's really in someone's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt given to me by the lovely [Heather](http://dean-and-castiel-winchester.tumblr.com) asking for a fic that highlights the love we both have for the movie "Labyrinth" and the late, great David Bowie.
> 
> Rest in Peace, Great Goblin King. 
> 
> <3
> 
>  
> 
> (If you have never seen this wonderful movie, you should go watch it immediately. One, because it's great and two, because this fic won't make much sense if you have never seen it. Enjoy!)

               

* * *

* * *

 

                The final “cut” has just been uttered and everyone seems to slouch underneath the weight of this very, _very_ long day.

                “Drinks in my trailer?” Misha asks, not even looking at Jensen before he’s pointed in that direction.

                “Yeah—get out the good shit.”

                Misha chuckles and nods in agreement, and soon, the two are walking off stage, patting various members of the crew on the back and muttering “goodnight” to others. Everything always drags after a long break, and today seemed to be coated in tar. Everyone is exhausted. Everyone is glad to be done. And hopefully, it won’t be too much longer until they all find their stride again.

                Misha’s trailer is quickly in front of them and the two men clamor inside—Jensen first, followed by Misha who falls against the door as soon as it shuts behind him.

                “ _Fuck_ —I just want to lie down and never get up again” Misha groans, rubbing his eyes hard with the heel of his hand.

                “Well, get me that drink first and then you can do whatever you want” Jensen mumbles back before falling face first onto the couch.

                “ _You_ know where everything is—why don’t you get _me_ a drink?”

                “I’m the guest” Jensen growls—edge muffled by the pillow smothering his face.

                “You’re _always_ in here … the title of _guest_ falls away once half your shit ends up in someone else’s place” Misha is rolling his eyes but he’s no sooner pulling his heavy frame from the door and stumbling over to the liquor cabinet. He honestly doesn’t mind serving Jensen … it makes him feel useful.

                Jensen garbles some slew of words that are neither decipherable nor important in Misha’s opinion, since he’s already doing what was asked.

                After a few more minutes, he’s kicking Jensen’s left leg as it hangs off the sofa, urging the man to scoot over so he can sit down too. With what seems like some exaggerated effort, Jensen finally muscles himself around, repositioning so he’s now sitting upright upon the cushions. Misha drops in closely at his side and hands him a glass—putting the bottle of Jack down on the coffee table once one of his hands is free.

                Jensen raises an eyebrow at that.

                “I am going to need more than just one” Misha says, already feeling his friend’s judgment seeping in, so he quickly downs his tumbler and reaches out to fill it again.

                “Don’t know _why_ … you only had like _four_ scenes today.”

                Misha turns to glare at the man from over the rim of his glass. He swallows and then sets the drink down on the table next to the bottle. “Yes— _well_ , I’m older, and I’m just _so used_ to lying around the house all day doing absolutely _nothing_ , so even just _four measly scenes_ is quite a lot for my weak, frail body to manage.”

                “We appreciate your struggle” Jensen deadpans—and that pulls a smile from Misha’s lips despite his annoyance.

                “Fuck off.”

                Now Jensen smiles too—burrowing further into the couch. “I will after you pour me another.”

                Misha shakes his head and grabs the man’s glass from his fingers, filling it up again and then matching Jensen’s posture beside him. “Wanna watch something?” he drones around another sip—noticing that they’re both now staring at the black, blank screen—and the shadowy reflection therein.

                “Why not? Probably gonna end up falling asleep in a few minutes anyway. At least it’ll drown out my snoring” Jensen mutters, groaning as he lurches forward to put down his glass and plop back again.

                Misha nods, knowing that that’s probably true; so he reaches for the remote on the end table and clicks on the TV, quickly going to the guide to see if there’s something mindless on for the both of them to fade into. “Family Guy?” he asks after scrolling through a few pages, peeking at Jensen just in time to see the man shake his head.

                “Too much thinkin’.”

                “Really? It’s a cartoon.” Misha laughs, but he just shrugs it off when his friend shakes his head once more.

                “Home shopping network” Jensen chuckles, lifting his arm to gesture lazily at the screen.

                “Are you thinking of finally buying me those diamond studs I’ve been asking for?”

                “Why do you want _diamonds_ when I’m the best stud around?”

                Misha barks out a laugh and thrusts his elbow into Jensen’s side. “God, you’re so full of yourself!”

                “Shut up and pick something” Jensen returns with a grin.

                “Oh, no way!” Misha chirps suddenly once his attention is back on the screen.

                “What?” Jensen asks, not even bothering to open his eyes after closing them a moment ago.

                “Labyrinth! Okay … it’s decided, we’re watching this!” Misha clicks down to the channel and presses _okay_ , becoming even more excited when he finds that they’ve only missed the first ten minutes.

                “Doesn’t this have David Bowie in it?” Jensen asks, barely peeking beneath his heavy lids.

                “Hell yeah, it does! Haven’t you seen this?”

                “Like … once, when I was a kid, I think.” Jensen sits up slightly as his face grows more somber. “They’re probably playing it now because he just passed.”

                “Yeah” Misha agrees, frowning back at the screen. “It’s such a shame. He was too young.”

                “Yeah. Cancer is a fucking bitch.”

                Misha raises his glass to that, nodding before taking another sip.

                The two watch in silence as Sarah says the magic phrase—shutting the door on her infant brother’s cries, only to halt the moment the cries stop. The girl turns back and opens the door again, calling her brother’s name: “ _Toby? Toby?”_ But no answer comes.

                “This is a little twisted” Jensen whispers, seeming more awake now.

                “Yeah. It’s probably worse now that we got kids.”

                “True.”

                The movie plays on—and they see David Bowie come in, all big hair and eyeliner and Jensen nearly shits himself when he hears the character’s name.

                “He’s names Jared? Oh, that’s _so_ perfect!”

                Misha laughs too but shakes his head. “No, sorry … it’s _Jar-eth._ Jareth the Goblin King.”

                Jensen slumps back, seemingly disappointed that all his hopes of seeing their tall buddy dress up in a blonde wig and make up this coming Halloween are fading. But he apparently shakes it off and turns his focus back to the movie once more.

               Misha does the same and is quickly melting back into the story, just like he’s always done, losing himself with its ups and downs and feeling as if he’s shrinking in his clothes.

***

               “How many times have you seen this?” Jensen finds himself asking, because the man to his right seems too involved just for nostalgia alone.

                A slight tinge of pink colors Misha’s cheeks. “A few times.”

                “Seems like more than a few.”

                Misha shrugs and pours himself another few fingers of whiskey, but doesn’t bother drinking any of it yet. “When I could … I watched _this_. I don’t know … I just liked the concept.”

                “Of spandex and Muppets?” Jensen laughs, feeling the need to lighten the weight that Misha’s tone is bringing to the air.

                His friend smiles, but there’s no strength to it. “Yeah … nothing like the outline of David Bowie’s junk to brighten a young boy’s day.”

                He laughs at that, but Jensen can’t help the concern he feels. Misha isn’t usually the type get serious, but when he does—he always veils it in humor. They watch in silence for another hour—counting down the minutes of the movie with several more tumblers of Jack. The fiery liquid melts their bones and once the final drops pass their lips, the two are eased and forgetful of any airs of concern that once filled the trailer.

                Sarah is back in what looks like her old room—only she’s accompanied by the old lady from the Labyrinth, and she’s piling Sarah up with all her old things … all the things that were once so important to the young girl. “ _Oh and Lancelot. Can’t forget him.”_ The stuffed bear is placed into Sarah’s arms and she clutches it tightly, as if it’s the only thing she can hold onto now.

                “I had a stuffed bear like that once” Misha says suddenly, jolting Jensen away from the grips of sleep.

                “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth and pushing himself up again.

                “Yeah. Gave it to Sasha though.”

                Jensen nods, thinking now about Misha’s younger brother. Of the two—Sasha is calmer. He’s more “normal” in the traditional sense, but still capable of that craziness that makes him so obviously related to Misha.

                “He still has it, I think” Misha whispers, but his words sound sad.

                Jensen chuckles lightly, giving himself a second to think of what to say. “Wait, do you want it back or something?”

                Misha hums—seeming like it was supposed to be a laugh, but there just wasn’t enough heart. “No … it’s his. Had to be.”

                The words are cryptic, but Jensen is too tired and drunk to really dwell on them now … he just files it all away for when he’s sober—because the tone of his friend’s voice is worrisome … it’s broken and drained, and it’s just not how Misha should sound. _Not ever._

 

 

                When he wakes up—it has to be close to two in the morning. A Proactive infomercial is playing on repeat across the screen, and Misha is slumped against the other armrest of the couch—sleeping soundly. Jensen looks at him a moment, wishing that his bladder wasn’t so full, because he’d like to look at him a little longer. With some careful maneuvering though, he wriggles out from beneath Misha’s feet that somehow made it onto his lap during the night. Before he heads off to the bathroom however, he grabs the throw-blanket from the arm chair next to the couch and drapes it over the other man. Misha shifts slightly, but soon settles—seeming more content now that he’s covered from the chill. Jensen smiles.

                And once he’s out of danger from bursting, he tip toes back to the couch—noticing now that Misha has stretched out to take up the whole damn thing. “Typical” he mutters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could just go out and crash in _his_ trailer—or at least on the bed in here, but something is keeping him planted where he stands—staring down at Misha’s quieted features. Something feels _off_ , like he’s supposed to be remembering it, like its _important_ ; but he just can’t quite pull it through the levels of his brain yet.

                And yet, with all the effort that comes with it, it’s actually the act of _not_ _remembering_ that brings it all rushing back—the movie— _Sarah_ , lost in the dream that was her old life—only a delusion, a safe place from the troubles she actually needed deal with. Jensen recalls how she clutched onto her stuffed bear … _what was its name? Oh, right_ — _Lancelot_. She held Lancelot tightly and tried with all her might to remember what she was supposed to be doing—what important thing she was supposed to be focusing on. And then, she finally did. Her baby brother, the Goblin king, Hoggle, Toby—they all came whisping back, just as the entire plot of the movie comes crashing back to Jensen now. But _his_ realization is nowhere near as helpful as Sarah’s was, because he still doesn’t have any idea of why he feels so worried. Why the hell would David Bowie in spandex get him anxious … beyond all the _obvious_ reasons? No, there’s something else, and he can’t help thinking that it has something to do with Misha.

_But why?_

                All Misha really said was that he loved that movie. He also said that he had a stuffed bear like Lancelot once, but he gave it to Sasha. Jensen peeks back at his friend just as Misha’s lashes flutter on a dream. Once again, he finds himself smiling at the man. _Figures_ he thinks to himself. It figures Misha would give something he cared about so much, away. And of course, he wouldn’t even hesitate to give the bear to Sasha. Whenever Misha talks about his baby brother, Jensen can see the pride well up inside him—so much it’s nearly spilling from his eyes. It’s a different kind of look than when he speaks proudly of his children or his wife— _no_ , Jensen decides. When Misha talks about Sasha, there’s always a bit of melancholy hugging his words. His eyes never seem to focus on just one thing—they wander as if trying to retrace steps all the way back to his younger days, when Misha was just a big brother and a son. Back to when his only job was to help and protect. _Not that the guy really considers it much different now_ , but Jensen figures the need to be useful was more desperate back then. Misha has shared _some_ about his past with him—how it was really hard at times and how he didn’t always have a home.

                Jensen can’t imagine how something like _that_ could churn out someone as good as _Misha Collins_ , but he’s so glad it did. He also can’t imagine how someone like Misha could cope in that sort of situation— on his own, _sure._ But with Sasha and his mom to think about too? Jensen wonders how the guy didn’t go out of his mind with worry.

                Then it hits him … why _he’s_ worrying, himself.

                Misha never had much, and what he _did_ have, all went to his family. That is probably why that weird little movie stuck with him for all these years. Sure, it’s silly and fun, but there’s something deeper underneath all that Muppet fur and 80’s music, Jensen realizes. Misha probably _relates_ to Sarah. He probably relates to her guilt, to her desperation, to her need to get through hell just to show her family that she is there for them. She will do _anything_ for them—for her little brother.

                For Toby.

_For Sasha._

                Jensen leans down, tracing a feathered finger along the edge of Misha’s face.

                In a few more minutes, he has his jacket on and his keys in hand and he’s softly closing the trailer door behind him.

                Misha simply nestles deeper beneath the blanket, smiling faintly with the ghost of a touch.

***

                As his blue eyes blink to let in the rising sun, Misha’s brain flickers with confusion—from _where he is_ , to _how exactly he ended up tangled in a throw on the couch_ —to _where the hell did Jensen go?_ He knows for certain that he was with him after filming. Misha sits up, albeit, a little too quickly, sending his aching head into overdrive, and suddenly all the alcohol he just recalled drinking is threatening to come back out the way it went in. He rushes to his feet—still tangled in the blanket, kicking it away quickly so he can stumble to the bathroom in time. With some good lurches and a solid five minutes of dry heaving afterwards, he’s finally starting to feel slightly better—or, at least not in danger of puking all over his trailer. With some effort, he stumbles out of the bathroom to go and collapse on his bed. It’s still early and he thankfully doesn’t have to film until noon, so some more sleep and then several gallons of water should just get him to that point. It’s a promising plan, and he’s already half asleep by the time he steps to the edge of his bed, falling forward with eyes closed and not caring about how he lands. But when he hits the mattress, something soft and lumpy crumples beneath his body.

                “ _What the_ —” he begins to groan, rocking sideways to pull the thing from between him and the blankets. He wakes up a little more with the feeling of soft fur and plush against his fingers.

                In his hand—gripped tightly like a memory, _is a teddy bear_ : light tan with black eyes, and a red bow around its neck.

                “ _Lancelot?_ ” Misha whispers, feeling almost silly for saying the name out loud. “ … _how?”_ He rolls onto his back so he can give the stuffed bear a closer look, noticing now the small tag wrapped around the bear's wrist. His fingers give a slight shake as he reaches to turn the tag over and read the words written on the other side, his breath catching immediately after.

                “ _Should you need us …_ — _J_.”

                With fresh tears in his eyes, Misha runs his thumb over the ink, feeling like something loose inside of him is finally fitting back into place. “I do” he whispers, filling up the little bears ears. He pulls the thing close and clutches him tight, not ever wanting to let go. “I do need you. _Both of you_.”

               

               


End file.
